I’m at the end of my one month tour of northern India and as it’s going so well that I’ve decided to finish the trip off with a short visit to the beautiful and relatively unexplored far north of India called Kashmir. In particular I’m hoping to see the wonderful, old houseboats on the Dal Lake made by the Brits during the days of the British Raj.

Let me just take a few steps back there. ‘Relatively unexplored’ is my choice of words there because this area of India is pretty much out-of-bounds as far as tourists are concerned at the moment. Not just because of the threat of gunfire, bombs and even missiles from the Pakistan border, with whom India have had violent disputes since lines were first drawn between the two feuding nations, but also from various Islamist militant organisations like Al-Faran. It was common knowledge that this was a troubled area to visit and in fact it was here that some tourists had been held captive by various terrorist groups in the 90’s and were subsequently killed and even beheaded.

But at the time, in my own little dream world, I knew absolutely nothing about this at all. Nothing. In my pea-brained wisdom all I wanted to do was go up to Kashmir to see these amazing houseboats that now sit pretty much empty all year round at the foothills of the Himalayas and maybe have a look at the scenery around there that I had heard was so stunning.

Houseboats in the Himalayas

Having read about these houseboats in a book somewhere I was keen to go and live on one of them for a few days and it wasn’t exactly hard to find agents in Delhi selling ‘their’ houseboats. The fact that all of them seemed to be available should have been a bit of an alarm bell, but nothing seemed to register in my head at all, and when one agent showed me a photo of his houseboat with David Essex sitting onboard I parted with my cash. In hindsight I guess it was no surprise that the agent mentioned nothing at all about the unrest there at that time.

Having made a reservation for our boat, The Beausite, we had to then think about how we would actually get there. This is a very rural part of India with very little in the way of public transport, the terrain was very hilly and the roads poor. The boats themselves are located on the Dal Lake, near the town of Srinigar, so we needed to find transport heading north to take us to the state of Jammu and Kashmir. The trip to get there alone was going to take a few days and we’d need to change buses a few times and also find the odd place to get our heads down wherever we could.

We hadn’t even left Deli before someone at the bus station told us we were mad for going to Kashmir at the moment. He said it’s been bad for quite a while, but tension there had escalated of late, in fact the army had recently imposed a strict 7pm curfew every night and anyone seen walking around after that time could potentially be shot at. That alarm bell didn’t seem to register much in my head either as we then jumped on the first bus heading north anyway, arriving in the town of Pathankot a few hours later towards sundown.

We needed to find somewhere to sleep for the night so were walking towards a cheap hostel we had found in our Lonely Planet book when we were befriended by an Indian businessman on the street who said he would help us find the place we were looking for. I’m not sure how successful this ‘businessman’ was, but after helping us find the place he then asked if he could share the room with us. A bit suspicious we thought, but he offered to pay for half the room and even gave us his share up front, so all seemed pretty kosher.

In the evening the three of us found a cheap little restaurant nearby where he made it pretty clear that we would have to be mentally deranged to continue on our journey north to Kashmir and actually pleaded with us to turn around and go back, which we clearly paid no attention to again as next morning after breakfast we said our goodbyes and jumped on the next bus going further north. He was a genuine, nice guy who just seemed to want some company. We’ll gloss over the fact that he had tried to kiss my ex every time I left the room the previous evening….

That whole day was spent on the same bus, the scenery getting more and more dramatic the further north we travelled. On the map it didn’t look like we travelled very far that day, but that was because we spent most of the time ascending and descending various mountain passes. As night started to fall we had just made it to the top of one of the passes and slowly approached the entrance to a long tunnel. At the other end was Kashmir, but as the time was just past 7pm in the evening they had closed the tunnel for the night as it would have been past curfew by the time we came out the other end.

That then gave us another dilema. We were now so high up that there was light snow all around us and with the prospect of sitting on a freezing bus until the tunnel opened again at sunrise we decided to bribe the bus driver to take us back down to the nearest village to find somewhere to sleep. Thankfully the other people on the bus, all locals, agreed and we drove 5 minutes back down the mountain and found a little guest house where we could all sleep.

When I say guest house I’m not exactly sure what it was, as we all seemed to be in the same big room. The owner had put down a few blankets and a pillow for each person, but we were really just sleeping on the floor. It actually felt more like a primary school hall than proper accomodation, but we were all just happy to be out of the cold. And the price for this ‘accommodation’ – 50p. Bargain.

By now it was about 8pm, there was nowhere to go and eat, nothing to do and until they turned out the lights a few hours later we just sat on our little patch of floor and felt the whole room was just burning holes in our heads. I have to say it was a bit uncomfortable actually, but this was the end of a whole month in India and we had got quite used to being stared at. Annoying as it was I guess a lot of places don’t see that many tourists, so I kind of understood. Eventually they turned the lights out and we got some light shut-eye until we were woken early next morning by the driver.

The tunnel opened at 6am and after 2km we finally found ourselves in the state of Kashmir. Immediately we could sense a different feel to the place. There were military vehicles everywhere and just a feeling of tension in the air suddenly. Two hours later we arrived in Srinigar on the edge of the Dal Lake and hoped this would all be worthwhile.

Kashmir in the days of the British Raj was the only place in the whole of India where the Brits were strictly forbidden to build any houses on the land, so in their infinite wisdom they realised that if they wanted to live somewhere nice they would have to build a boat. A house-sized boat. So that’s what they did, all the Brits started building these enormous floating luxury houses and we were going to rent one of them for the princely sum of £2 per person per night ….. including 3 meals a day! We were met at the edge of the lake and ferried over to our boat.

Stepping inside was like going back 100 years in time. There were chandeliers on the ceiling, iron stoves, antique furniture and ornaments, carpets, stained-glass windows and oil paintings on the wall. It felt like the place had been abandoned 70 years earlier and untouched since then. It was like staying in a Victorian house frozen in time. And of course it felt very British indeed.

The Beausite

We went for a little walk around town in the afternoon, but it was absolutely freezing so when we came back the owner insisted he make a hot bath for us while he made tea. Having warmed up we sat round a lovely old antique table for food, with stoves keeping the room nice and warm and candles burning everywhere. To finish the evening off perfectly we were served hot cocoa and shown to our bedroom where we found the owner had given us some hot water-bottles to keep out little piggies warm. We lay there wondering what all this Kashmir fuss was really about and settled in for a cosy night’s sleep.

Next morning after breakfast the owner said he had arranged for someone to take us on a little rowing trip around the lake. We felt pretty bad when the man who turned up looked about 100 years old and were told he would be paddling us for a few hours. But out we went anyway. It was freezing cold, a very different world from the sticky, humid Delhi we had just come from. As humans we’re never happy are we? When we’re cold we want heat and when we’re hot we want a breeze. Bit like when you’re light skinned you want a suntan or if you’ve got curly hair you want straighteners! Anyway, we were a bit concerned about what it was going to be like on an open boat for hours on end, regardless of how beautiful the scenery was, but climbing aboard the traditional little boat, called a shakara, we were handed layers and layers of blankets and covers and the whole thing was actually quite comfy and cozy. Job’s a good’n.

Peace and tranquillity on the Dal Lake

The scenery was breathtaking. Even if it was pretty overcast and cold, the peace and solitude of the little waterways as we approached the main lake was so serene. All we could hear was the lapping of water against the side of the boat and the odd little splash with every stroke our little paddler, Ali, took at the front. Unlike the rest of India, there was no honking horns and no crazy traffic, just the sound of water and the odd bird as they flew past. It was lovely. It was so hard to imagine that this beautiful and peaceful part of the world could possibly be the focus of so much hate and anger.

After a while the weather started to improve and Ali asked if we would like to stop at a village by the side of the lake where there was a market and carpet shop. Kashmir as you know is the seal of highest quality when it comes to silk garments and carpets, so these things were way out of our backpacker budget and in the end the only thing we paid for was a quick shoe repair at the side of the lake as we came back towards our little boat.

All of a sudden there was an almighty explosion nearby that echoed round the whole valley, bouncing off the mountains and shaking the ground under our feet. People started screaming and running in all directions, it was absolute pandemonium. It was like something you only see on the news or in a Hollywood film, people in chaos running for their lives. My ex jumped behind me for cover, but I just stood there in both disbelief and awe of what was happening. Clearly something terrible had just happened and the people knew the only thing to do was run for cover. Amazingly I recall the only thing that came out my mouth was ‘Wow action!”. An odd comment to make, but strangely I don’t recall feeling worried in the slightest as all hell broke loose around us. Ali grabbed my arm and started anxiously pulling us towards his little boat saying ‘Come, we go now!’ Somewhat reluctantly I got back in the boat, but was totally fascinated by all the commotion going on instead of being concerned for my safety. I guess I’d never seen anything like that before and a bit like seeing a car crash scene the human brain is naturally very curious. I was transfixed. As Ali paddled us away from the lakeside village the sound of hysteria and screaming slowly subsided and was once again returned to bird song and quiet. “Ahaaaaa”, I thought, “thiiis is why people said don’t come here!”

Back at the safety of our houseboat we later talked to a couple of soldiers who were checking if there were any tourists that might have been hurt. They told us we were the only tourists they had seen in the whole city and that they were surprised we were there at all. They had heard a rumour that afternoon that the explosion was probably a terror attack, a bomb that had gone off only a hundred yards or so from where we had been standing.

Reviewing the situation we finally decided to listen to the locals. The soldiers told us it would be wise to leave the area in case there were any further attacks, so we made arrangements to fly back to Delhi the following morning. If you think the security checks at Heathrow are thorough you should have seen the number of hoops we had to jump through the next day at the airport.

Was it all worth it? In hindsight, not having been hurt, I think so, yes. Was it stupid going there in the first place? Yeaaaah, I guess so. It was quite a long trek to get there and we had nearly been blown up in a terror attack. But incredibly my memories of Kashmir will be more of the historic, old houseboats stuck in time, echoing a bygone era. Of the peace, serenity and bird song as we paddled around the scenic Dal Lake in the Himalayan foothills. I’m glad that’s how I remember it.